


It's Gonna Take Some Time (For Us To Get It Right)

by Eastmava



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Brief mentions of canon typical violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Kylo Ren is bad at planning, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava
Summary: "The thought of being a tool for Hux, a pawn to let the general claw himself that much closer to ruling the galaxy, should disgust him, should make his stomach roil. But he has been used his entire life, and no one has ever touched him as gently as Hux did last night.If Hux wants to use him Kylo will gladly let him. As long as Hux is there, to ward off the creeping, heavy shroud of loneliness he has felt his entire life. As long as Hux will fill that gaping void, feed that ravenous hunger he didn’t even have a name for until Hux’s fingers in his hair sparked want, white hot and burning, in his belly."Kylo plans. Things go awry.





	It's Gonna Take Some Time (For Us To Get It Right)

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic in December, the day after I saw The Last Jedi. 
> 
> I worked on it on and off for a long time, considered abandoning it, considered leaving the fandom entirely, and then decided I had more I wanted to say, more stories to tell. I'm here, and I'm planning on staying.
> 
> It took a long time, but here it is, finally.
> 
> A very special thanks to obsessions-and-dreams for all the hand holding and encouragement.

If he had been wearing his mask perhaps he would’ve been able to hide it.

The wound on his face is still raw, prone to splitting open when pulled despite the bacta and bandages that he’s worn near constantly. It’s on the orders of Medbay that he leave his mask off to allow the cut to heal as naturally as possible, even if exposure to the recycled air makes it itch and burn, the edges dry and cracked. Kylo had looked at his face in his mirror, stared at it with unblinking eyes and a heavy knot of anger and shame, so twisted together it was impossible to tease them apart, for long minutes this morning.

The meeting with Snoke is the first time he’s left his quarters since he was released from medbay two weeks ago, all required check ups done by med droids in his rooms.

Hux is beside him, posture military perfect in a way that only someone who was raised with it can be, attention rapt on Snoke as they strategize even though Kylo can almost smell the exhaustion on him. While his injuries have at least granted him the minor reprieve of hiding away in his quarters the fall of Starkiller has done the opposite for Hux, has forced him to work even longer hours while he scrapples with other generals in the Order over holocalls, fighting them into still respecting him and demanding they listen, refusing to take anything less than obedience and a deference to his authority as an answer.

Kylo knows, because other than the med droids, Hux has been his only visitor.

Hux had seemed as surprised to find himself knocking on Kylo’s door as Kylo had been, shoulders slumped and the starched collar of his uniform shirt gone grey with sweat, a single piece of hair broken free and hanging over his forehead. The conversation had been stilted, a perfunctory explaining of facts, nothing more than co-commanders updating each other, but there had been something like concern in Hux’s gaze, something soft and warm sparking behind tired, weary eyes, something long buried but trying to make itself known.

(And there was a memory, a hazy, half-formed one, as if looked at through a fog, of blood and pain and snow, Kylo howling his anguish to an uncaring sky, the noise drowned out by the rending apart of the planet beneath him, certain no one would hear his weakness in all the chaos, but then there were fingers in his hair, soothing, a bright point when everything else was veiled in pain, and a sharp, clipped accent, promising him he would be alright, that he wasn’t alone, begging him to just hold on a little longer. Neither of them have ever mentioned it, but he knows it was real, has caught the occasional flash of it in Hux’s mind, nothing more than a blur of color and wind that he wouldn’t be able to decipher if it wasn’t a memory he shared.)

After that first night it had been easy to ask Hux to stay, to invite him in for dinner, to linger, and while Hux had been too busy to come by every night the end of Alpha shift found him in Kylo’s quarters more often than not. When he had delivered the news last night that Snoke was requesting their presence, as if Kylo hadn’t seen the notification on his datapad, his only connection to the war that is being fought right outside his quarter doors except for Hux’s nightly visits, he had nodded solemnly and was unable to keep himself from glancing longingly at his mask. Hux’s fingers had caught on his jaw and turned Kylo to face him with a tenderness he would’ve thought the general incapable of.

“Bacta,” Hux said. “Do you have bacta? It would help.” Kylo had looked at him with lost eyes, because they both knew the wound on his face required more attention than just bacta, that no matter what he did his mask was the only way to really hide, but Hux had dug the ointment out of the medkit in Kylo’s refresher anyway, and his fingers had been cool as they dabbed the gel on, soothing the burning itch of healing skin.

He thinks of that gentle touch now, Hux sitting so very close, skillful fingers never pulling the tender skin, as he watches Hux’s fingers flex in their gloves. He thinks of the pale skin beneath the smooth calfskin, the barest callous from the butt of a blaster that marked Hux’s bare palms, the perfectly trimmed nails a sharp contrast to the cracked skin of his fingertips because even generals couldn’t avoid the ravages dry, recycled air could wreak.

He’s so distracted studying Hux’s hands, resting in the small of his back, thinking of how his own larger hand would settle there, wondering what it would take for Hux to allow the touch, that when Supreme Leader dismisses Hux his head whips up and as Hux nods a curt goodbye and turns on his heel with a sharp click of boots the muscle in Kylo’s neck jumps with an aborted instinct to turn, to watch Hux leave, to keep him in his sights for as long as possible.

He looks to Snoke and the expression of his twisted features tells him all too well the Snoke has not missed where his eyes were resting. He curses himself for forgetting he doesn’t have the protection of his mask. Snoke smirks, and it twists his horrid face even more. He forces himself to hold steady, to meet Snoke’s gaze while the receding footsteps of Hux’s departure echo around the chamber.

“My apprentice,” Snoke says as soon as the door has thudded shut behind Hux. “It would serve you well to dispatch with your,” he pauses, draws the moment out for a long, considering minute, “infatuation with the general.”

“Supreme Leader, I-” he begins to defend himself, but the words are ripped from him by an invisible hand.

“You cannot hide from me, Kylo Ren. You forget, perhaps, that I can see your thoughts. Your wants.” The threatening pressure on his throat disappears, and he sucks in a great breath. “It would be best for you to abandon these fantasies.”

“Avoiding attachment is the way of the Jedi.” He says the words before he can stop himself and regrets them immediately, Snoke’s face turning thunderous. “Forgive me,” he begs, as though he has ever been able to bargain. If his tears and screams as a child hadn’t kept Snoke’s dark presence from invading his thoughts, from painfully carving a space in young Ben Solo’s mind, he should know that no argument he can deliver will sway Snoke now. He bows his head in a show of deference and tries not to wince at the sound of Snoke standing, the muscles in his back pulled tight with nerves as Snoke walks toward him, his towering shadow filling his sight.

“General Hux hungers for one thing; power,” Snoke says, coming to stand before him. “He would keep you, only so long as it suited his needs. You would do well to rid yourself of any thoughts of him, before you play into his hand.”

“Yes, Master,” he agrees, the agreement slow and dragging on his tongue, a lie he hopes Snoke doesn’t read. He must manage to hide the traitorous thought, because Snoke accepts his words without question and dismisses Kylo with a wave of his hand.

His counts his steps, times his breathing to his footfalls, anything to keep his mind blank as he exits. Only when the door is closed behind him does he let his thoughts take shape.

He has been used his whole life. A tool to try and keep Han and Leia’s already fracturing marriage together. A symbol of hope for Luke. A weapon, a dog starved and leashed, waiting to be pointed, for Snoke.

The thought of being a tool for Hux, a pawn to let the general claw himself that much closer to ruling the galaxy, should disgust him, should make his stomach roil. But he has been used his entire life, and no one has ever touched him as gently as Hux did last night.

If Hux wants to use him Kylo will gladly let him. As long as Hux is there, to ward off the creeping, heavy shroud of loneliness he has felt his entire life. As long as Hux will fill that gaping void, feed that ravenous hunger he didn’t even have a name for until Hux’s fingers in his hair sparked want, white hot and burning, in his belly.

If Hux wants power then Kylo will give it to him, will make himself power incarnate and then lay himself at Hux's feet in offering.

_____

There are ways of thinking around things, of keeping his thoughts tucked away in a safe corner of his mind he’s perfected over time. If Snoke truly wanted to take his thoughts he knows he would be incapable of stopping him but so long as he gives Snoke no reason to doubt he’s safe, hides his plans behind layer upon layer of other things, buries them behind lies of loyalty he tells so often he almost convinces himself they’re real.

It was how he hid Snoke’s presence in his mind from Luke for so long, and now he uses it to hold tight a few dear memories he can’t let go.

The way Leia used to hum as she brushed Ben’s hair off his forehead. The rumble of Chewie’s chest when he picked him up after a nightmare. The tone of Han Solo’s voice when he clapped him on the shoulder and called him ‘Kid’.

And now of the way it had felt when Hux’s lips were so near his own, breath warm and humid. The way Hux smoothes bacta on his still healing wounds, the gentle touch of the back of his bare hand to Kylo’s side to check for the heat of infection. The way Hux stands so tall and straight despite the exhaustion clear in his eyes, the twitch of his jaw Kylo sees only out of the corner of his eye when they stand side by side before Snoke that he knows means Hux is swallowing the urge to argue with the Supreme Leader.

And most sacred of all the thought of how Hux will look with a golden crown resting lightly on his brow, the look on his face when Kylo hands him the galaxy.

Snoke knocks Hux to the floor and drags him until he stands bruised and bloodied and Kylo thinks of using the Force, the very tools Snoke gave him, to strangle him. Supreme Leader calls Hux a rabid cur and Kylo imagines Hux’s fingers in his hair and voice in his ear, whispering praise and commands, Kylo leashed willingly to his side not by bonds forged from power but from those formed of loyalty and love.

The girl is a problem, he thinks, as she stands before him, there but not, tied together by some invisible string of the Force he can't find but is helpless against all the same. He feels her try to reach into his mind, remembers too well the awful coldness when she did it before, when she cracked open his defenses and bared his weakness to him.

But let her try now.

Even if she does slip into his mind there’s no fear now. How could there be, when he now knows his purpose is to serve Hux, to make him Emperor?

She tries to reach out to him, to remind him of who he once was, poor, young, weak Ben Solo, as if he could have possibly forgotten. The scared little boy, the new hope of the Jedi, who had only wanted to escape the dark voice that dripped like poison in his mind, the one that called him away from the Light.

He wonders what to do about her, how to sever their connection, until he watches Hux dab crusted blood off of his lip, a souvenir of Snoke’s displeasure, in the pale light of his refresher. “He shouldn’t do this to you,” he says, and feeling bold takes the washcloth stained with blood from Hux’s hand and touches it to his scabbed mouth himself, watches the red feather out on the damp cloth as Hux allows him this liberty, allows Kylo to see him like this, tired and weary and bruised.

He still thinks Hux the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“There’s much he shouldn’t do,” Hux responds, and brings a hand up to wrap around Kylo’s, their eyes meeting with a spark before his gaze trips to the still healing cut slicing across Kylo’s face and his other hand hovers just above his side, a breath away from the wound that has been torn open again and again as Snoke uncaringly forces him to continue his training. “If I could stop him-” Hux trails off, because they both know he can’t.

But Kylo can.

He wants to tell Hux, wants to tell him he’s planning to overthrow Snoke so that Hux can claim his rightful place as leader of the First Order. That he will give Hux all he wants, all he has worked for, and all he asks in return is gentle touches and affection, praise he so hungers for whispered in his ear. Hux may not be able to save them from Snoke but it’s enough that he wants to, that he wants to free Kylo when no one before has ever cared to.

The scavenger. If he can turn her he’ll be handing Hux not only the Order but two powerful Force users to do his bidding. It won’t matter that Hux has no control of the Force if he has Kylo and his knights and the scavenger. The galaxy will fall beneath his feet and Kylo will be one step behind him, happy to follow wherever Hux leads.

_____

He can’t tell Hux, as much as he may want to. He sees the tired slump of Hux’s shoulders and want to tell him it’s not all for naught, that soon the Order will be his, and soon after the galaxy. But Hux can’t block his mind from Snoke like Kylo can, and so he says nothing, and plots, and plans, and keeps his conversations with the girl secret as he tries to lure her here.

As soon as Snoke is dead there’s a violent, screaming void in his thoughts, in the spots of his mind Snoke had carved out to make space for himself. They’ve been there so long, parts of Ben Solo lost to the insidious voice, that he hadn’t even realized they were there until they had suddenly vanished, leaving empty space that threatens to consume him like a collapsed star. But the girl is there beside him and he knows if he hesitates his entire plan will fall apart so they fight and he loses himself in the motions, in the arc of his saber and the slice of it through the air and he clings to thoughts of Hux, centers himself with the reminder that soon he will be Hux’s and Hux’s alone, that he will not have to hide his loyalty to one master to appease another and while Hux has no control of the Force his presence in it is strong, burns as hot and bright as the sun he destroyed and Kylo knows he will be able to settle in the cracks that Snoke once filled.

Except the girl leaves, taking Luke’s saber with her, and with nothing to cling to the yawning darkness of his thoughts consume him, and he’s falling to the ground.

He doesn’t remember when he lands.

And then he’s called back by the bright spot of Hux, his energy radiating through the Force and calling Kylo back.

He wishes he had stayed unconscious.

Hux stands amidst the chaos, the broken bodies on the floor and the stench of burning flesh cloyingly sweet in the air and Kylo sees his fingers twitch toward his blaster and the sickening bitter flavor of bile lies heavy on his tongue as he realizes Snoke was right, that he was never more to Hux than a tool to be used, used and discarded. 

He has played right into Hux's manipulating hand. 

_It was for you_ , he wants to scream. _It was all for you. I would’ve taken on the Resistance single handedly, I would’ve given you the galaxy, if only you would let me stand by your side._

When Hux questions him he’s overcome with rage, with that burning fiery anger he knows consumed Vader, that darkness inside him that scared away everyone who ever tried to help him, and it makes his stomach twist when he raises his hand and pulls the air from Hux’s lungs with wrongness but he knows there’s no going back.

If he can’t have Hux’s love, his affection, his tenderness and soft praise and gentle hands, he can at least have his fear.

It’s not enough, it will never be enough, but at least it’s something no one else gets from Hux.

It’s the same compulsion that has him send Hux flying against the wall with a thud that makes him sick.

He didn’t want this, he never wanted this.

Kylo stands in the abandoned base, a pair of dice disappearing from his grasp, and catches a glimpse of Hux, still standing tall and giving orders, deep, inky bruises blossoming on his face, and wonders how he could’ve gotten it all so wrong.

The weight of his actions are heavy but it’s only at night, after he’s showered and stares at himself in the mirror, fingers trembling as he tries to coat bacta on his scar, something he hasn’t done in weeks because Hux has been there, with hands that hold more gentleness that a general in the Order should, that they crush him. He’s been able to push aside the consequences of what he’s done, to ignore his actions because there’s always been one thing in front of him that needs dealing with, and it’s only now when he’s alone, with nothing to demand his attention but his bed (his cold, empty bed, that would be too small for the two of them but if Hux can take the sun and create a weapon, if he can look at Kylo and see a monster who who needs a soothing touch, surely he could navigate fitting the two of them in the narrow bunk) that he collapses, shaking, knees suddenly weakened with the unbearable burden of what he’s done.

He’s so alone.

He had killed Snoke for Hux and now, now Hux hates him and he’s more alone than ever.

Sleep doesn’t come. He lays in his bunk and stares at his ceiling, thoughts filled with the blackened, clawing creep of loneliness and he has to grab the sides of his bed, fist the sheets in a desperate hold to stay anchored, to keep himself from drifting on the vast expanse of solitude that tries to overwhelm him. Snoke has been in his thoughts, had burrowed in, since before he can remember, and while some parts of him relax at knowing for the first time in his life he doesn’t have to worry about his thoughts being invaded he fears that if he doesn’t find something to cling to he’ll loose that parts of himself Snoke left unharmed.

It’s in desperation that he closes his eyes and casts about for something to grasp, some thread in the Force he can wrap around himself as a ward. A starship is filled with Force signatures, flitting and wavering and weaving all around, and it’s easy enough to find one and follow it, trace the burning heat of it.

Kylo almost laughs, a choked sounding sob that bubbles in his throat. Of course it’s Hux. Hux, who puts little value in the Force, who believes brute strength and determination are more valuable than something he can’t see, of course is the one with the brightest signature of all. He should've recognized it, so used to being soothed by it. Hux, who hours before he threw into a wall with a wave of his hand, anger coursing through him making him relish the crack of his body against the durasteel, a fitting twin to the twisting, stabbing ache he was responsible for in Kylo’s own heart, is the one he’s drawn to, the one that sings out to him.

As if it ever could’ve been any other way. Separate them by star systems, galaxies, and he’s certain he’d still find his way back to Hux.

It’s a bad idea to follow it, Kylo knows he’ll receive no kind of welcome, but he’s helpless now, unable to resist the one thing that may ease the screaming void inside him. To be closer to Hux, even for a moment, even if only so Hux can send him away, will be better than nothing.

He’s surprised when Hux opens the door. He had debated just barging in, electronics and wiriring were no match for the Force, easy enough to override. But despite everything, despite how wrong everything has gone he still wants nothing more than Hux’s affection, his company willingly given, and forcing his way in would be wrong in ways that make him squirm with their vileness.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux greets him, with a nod of deference that makes him sick.

He swallows. “May I come in?”

“You ask as if I have the power to stop you.” But Hux steps aside anyway, and Kylo slips in, biting back the words that Hux could’ve had infinite power, that he could’ve had Kylo and all Kylo would give him, if only things were different. If only Hux could love him.

Hux’s quarters are in disarray. He’s never been in them before, Hux had always come to him, but he knew the general, knew his orderly mind, and was certain it would’ve been reflected in his living spaces. The door to the small closet is open, hangers still swinging as if clothes have been violently ripped from them. The few personal effects Hux has collected are piled on his bed, and a pack sits beside them, half-full, beaten and worn, something a young cadet would’ve used to carry their belongings.

He looks to Hux, stripped down to his boots and pants and a thin shirt, coat and jacket tossed on the end of his couch in a haphazard pile he would’ve thought Hux incapable of. Bruises blossom, dark and inky, across his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. Hux doesn’t shift when Kylo looks at him, doesn’t sway his weight between his feet in nervousness like other men do, he simply meets Kylo’s gaze, posture straight and fearless as always.

“You’re leaving.” Kylo glances around Hux’s quarters again, the sum total of his life waiting to be stuffed into a bag, and tries not to retch at the horrible realization.

“Yes,” Hux states simply, no fear in his eyes. He straightens impossibly more. “I decided it best to depart.”

“But the Order,” he tries to plead, but there are no words.

“This is not my Order. It never was. It never will be. There’s no place for me here.” Hux strides defiantly past him, back to his small cot, and continues folding clothes. “I’d have thought you'd be pleased.”

His sob is so fractured it almost sounds like a laugh as it cuts through the heavy silence of the room. He staggers to the couch, feeling empty and raw, cracked open. Hux is leaving, and he won’t stop him, even though the thought fills him with hopelessness. “It could’ve been,” he says quietly. “The Order could’ve been yours.”

“Yes, well.” There’s a flash of something across Hux’s face, there and then gone, a reflex that wasn’t quite trained out of him. Hurt, or regret. Heartbreak. “It’s yours now, Supreme Leader,” he snarls. “Congratulations, you have everything you want.”

“No.” He shakes his head, looks at Hux and tries to study him, memorize him in these last few moments. “No, I have nothing I want.” 

“What are you talking about, Ren?”

“ _It was for you!_ ” He cries, voice snagging on the words. “Kriff the Order. I never wanted to be Supreme Leader. It was for you. _It was all for you!_ ” He snarls his hands in his hair, tugs until it hurts.

“Ren-”

“I killed Snoke for you. I killed him, so the Order could be yours and I could be yours too.” And now Hux is leaving.

“Ren.” Three sharp steps, measured by the striking of Hux’s heels on the floor, and he stands before Kylo. He tugs aside the collar of his shirt, more bruises spreading down his shoulders, and then pulls it off, revealing a nasty patchwork of bruises across his side and back, slipping down past the waist of his pants. Blue and black and deep purple and sickly yellow, all mottling Hux's skin, his perfect skin. All he has ever wanted was the chance to touch that skin, but all he’s done is mar it. “And these? Were these for me too?” Hux’s voice is calm, controlled and level, but with a thread of fury as hardened as durasteel in it.

“You drew a blaster on me.”

“I thought she had turned you!” Kylo has heard Hux deliver speeches and bark orders, snarl curses and whisper gentle words of healing, but he’s never heard Hux shout like this. He takes a deep breath, bruised rib cage expanding. “I walked into the throne room, knowing only that the girl had been spotted, and she’s nowhere to be seen and Snoke is dead. I thought she had turned you. I thought she had turned you against me.” Hux blinks, as if startled by his own words. “The Order,” he corrects. “I thought she had turned you against the Order.”

“Please,” he begs, hope fluttering in his chest, and wildly reaches out to grab one of Hux’s hands. “Don’t leave. I did it for you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t protect you from Snoke. But he’s gone now, and it’s all yours. The Order. The galaxy. Maker Hux, you can have anything you want. Just don’t leave me.”

Hux grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him forward, stumbling off the couch into a violent, brutal kiss that tastes of copper and is more teeth than lips. He allows it, leans into it, willing to beg for more because if this is all Hux will give him it’s still more than he’s ever had. Except it gentles, slows, Hux’s hand loosening to cup the back of his neck, stroke just below the heavy fall of his hair, tongue soothing along bitten lips, for long, stretching moments until Hux shoves him back.

He falls to his knees before Hux, lays his hands on narrow hips and falls forward, forehead pressing against the rough wool of Hux’s trousers. This close he can see the feathering of the bruises, can make out the individual burst capillaries right below the skin. He stares, forces himself to look at what he’s done, swallowing through the bile in his mouth, because he deserves to feel sick with the knowledge that he has hurt Hux.

“Please,” he begs again. “Please, stay.”

Hux pulls him back with another hand in his hair but it softens, instead cupping his chin to tilt his head up. It would be easy enough to break away, but he doesn’t want to. Wants to stay right here, at Hux’s feet, staring up into his face, still so serious, but softened in some imperceptible way.

“You will never raise a hand against me again.”

“Never,” he promises, the easiest vow that’s ever been asked of him.

“The Order-”

“Is yours,” he promises.

Hux smiles, and it’s more radiant than the sun he destroyed. “Is ours,” he says, fingers stroking along Kylo’s cheek. “No more making plans without me. We command together, as one.”

“Yes,” he gasps, and Hux bends low, so close, so close, the air between them damp and heavy. He sways forward, but Hux stops him.

“You may kiss me again, when the bruises are all gone.”

His eyes flutter shut. He has this. Somehow, he has this, Hux. If he has to atone by waiting he’ll endure. It will be worth it.

“Of course,” he agrees. “Of course. I’m sorry Hux. I never want to hurt you.”

“Tomorrow,” Hux begins, straightening. “We plan. The galaxy will be ours.”

“Yes,” he agrees, and rises to stand. “Anything you want,” and his next words make Hux smile, make Hux slip his fingers into Kylo’s hair and pull him forward to bite a kiss into his neck, a deep bruising mark that will tie them together, the first of infinite ones Hux will leave him with.

“Emperor Hux.”

~End

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Happy with something I've written? Never met her.
> 
> Thank you for making it this far. Why not come hang out on Tumblr, where I post pictures of my cat and spend too much time and energy on these dumb boys.
> 
> cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com
> 
> If you enjoyed it I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos!


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